When my son was in the ICU, I begged for five days off. My boss said, “Separate work from private life.” So the next morning, I rolled my son’s hospital bed into the office. IVs, monitors, silence. “You said separate them,” I told him. “So I brought both.”
Word spread. The clip of me typing with one hand, holding my son’s with the other, went viral—captioned: “This is dedication. But should it have to be?”
By day five, my son opened his eyes. “Dad?” he whispered.
A rival CEO offered me a remote job—double pay, full compassion. I said yes.
A year later, my son’s healthy, wants to be a doctor. I’ve learned: real work doesn’t demand sacrifice. It respects the love that keeps you alive.
